


The Werewolves Of London

by Rod



Series: Oz and Jesse's Excellent Adventure [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Gimlet Series - W. E. Johns, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Nazis, Time Travel, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27942857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rod/pseuds/Rod
Summary: Chasing Fenrir Greyback through a portal in time, Oz ends up further back than he expected.  Several decades further back.  He wasn't expecting to be in a war story.
Series: Oz and Jesse's Excellent Adventure [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046248
Kudos: 2





	1. An American Werewolf In London

**Author's Note:**

> The plot and characters (and a fair chunk of dialogue — I take no responsibility for the Mockney) come from Captain W E Johns' _Gimlet Mops Up_ , one of his "King of the Commandos" series of books. Gimlet isn't as well known as Biggles, but I actually like him better.
> 
> Basically, the commandos tackle the Nazi Werewolf spy operation. I couldn't resist making their lives more complicated.
> 
> This story happens during chapter 6 of _A Matter Of Control_ , for suitable definitions of "during".

The street Oz appeared on was deserted. In one sense that was good. Explaining that he had just jumped through a portal in time was not the sort of thing that normally went well. It was however bad in the sense that he couldn't see the person who had jumped through seconds ahead of him. Fenrir Greyback was also a werewolf and capable of moving very quickly, but not that quickly. The portal must have moved in the few seconds between them passing through. A quick glance showed that the portal wasn't behind him now. That was going to be... problematic.

Oh well, Oz decided, he would have to deal with that later. For now, the most important thing was determining where and when he was.

The street didn't offer a lot of clues. It was evidently a side street, not all that long, full of grim-looking buildings. Some of the windows were boarded up, more than Oz would have expected even in a poor area. The cars... Oz didn't know automotive history that well, but even he could peg those designs as being somewhere between the 1930s and 1960s. All in all, it looked like Oz was further back in time than he expected.

To be fair, Oz hadn't had a lot of expectations. He hadn't been paying much attention to Severus Snape and Fenrir Greyback shouting at each other as they fought, being a little busy with a werewolf of his own. He had gathered that Greyback wanted to kill someone Snape referred to as a child, which could have meant a trip of anything from five to twenty five years. In reality it seemed to be more like fifty years and Oz was inclined to think it was more than that.

Putting away the silvered knife he had borrowed from Buffy, Oz started walking down the street unhurriedly. He didn't want to rush and risk missing Greyback if he was nearby, assuming he had arrived before Oz of course. He also didn't want to stand out too much, but he suspected not many people were going to be wearing jeans and an ironic T-shirt. Walking as far as the main street was going to get him noticed. The longer Oz could put that off, the better.

There was one building that stood out among the drab little houses and shops. It stood back a little, railings separating it disdainfully from the rest of the street, and it looked markedly less shabby than its neighbours. A black signboard proclaimed it was the Tabernacle Of St Barnaby In The East, and there was a small notice on the board on the railings. Oz approached hopefully; with luck he would be able to stock up on holy water, which would at least give him a weapon against vampires.

The noticeboard explained that Sunday's preacher would be Brother Geraldus. More importantly it had the date and location. London was pretty much what Oz had expected, but 1946 was not when he had hoped to be. At least World War Two was over. Still, he might as well see if the church was open and would let him near their font.

The church was indeed open. And apparently it was time for the service. Every head turned towards the door as Oz opened it, and just as he feared Oz was by far the most casually dressed. Oops. Oz inclined his head respectfully towards the minister, Brother Geraldus presumably, and slipped into a pew before the guy at the door could object.

There was a lingering smell of hospitals about the church, strong enough that Oz wouldn't have needed his enhanced senses to notice it. It reminded him uncomfortably of his brief involuntary stay with the Initiative. It took a while for him to sort through that and notice what else his nose was telling him. Very faintly he could scent werewolf; sometime within the last week Fenrir Greyback had been here.

Oz started covertly paying more attention to his fellow worshippers. Once he did that, he couldn't help but notice how fake the service felt. While there were prayers and a rambling talk from the dog-collarless minister that took a long time to say nothing, no one present seemed to be making more than a token effort. There was a weird sort of tension in the air, and Oz didn't think it was because of his dress sense. Oz hadn't been much of a church-goer even when he was nominally a Christian, but none of what was going on really added up.

There wasn't a font, not that Oz would have trusted any water it contained now.

After a particularly pointless final prayer, one of the congregation stood and started bringing around a black cloth bag for the collection. Oz hoped they wouldn't mind too much when he declined; he only had US currency, and that was dated at least sixty years in their future. He was just contemplating the politest way to avoid contributing when he noticed the young man in the blue suit sitting across the aisle from him stiffen slightly, his heart rate speeding up. The kid — he couldn't be more than twenty — was watching the collection intently. Oz did likewise, and was puzzled when all he could see was the occasional note being put in the bag. Then it dawned on him that a pound was a lot of money in post-war Britain, and the congregation didn't look that well off. It wasn't very likely that those pieces of paper were banknotes.

When the collection bag came round to them, the man in the blue suit dropped a coin in. The bag clinked, so he wasn't the only one. Oz smiled, put his hand in the top of the bag as if he was holding a coin, then flicked the fabric hard enough to make the coins clink together. There, he thought; no offence given and no anachronisms left behind.

The minister disappeared through the little door at the back of the room while the rest of the congregation headed for the exit. Oz and Mr Blue Suit had to wait to get out into the aisle. When they finally did, their way was blocked by a couple of people who 'just happened' to pause in exactly the wrong place. Oz was not convinced. He was considering asking the men to move when another guy came up from the front.

"Our preacher would like to have a word with you gentlemen," the man said softly. He gave them a smile with exactly no warmth in it. Oz raised an eyebrow and returned the smile.

Young Blue Suit apparently preferred words. "What about?" he asked. He sounded polite and reasonable, but his heart rate had gone up again. Given what Oz had observed already, that seemed entirely justified.

"You are strangers in our midst," the man explained. "Our minister makes it a rule to ask strangers if they enjoyed the service and if they would care to join the Brotherhood."

"It was interesting, but not really my thing," Oz replied mostly truthfully.

His companion used those few seconds to look around, but didn't seem to have any more idea of how to get out of there than Oz did. "I'd like to think it over," he tried.

"But it would be discourteous not to speak to the preacher," the Brotherhood guy said blandly. "Come, he is waiting."

So, so fake, Oz thought to himself. There was no getting out of it without starting a fight, though. Oz might have tried that, but the two men blocking the aisle and the door-keeper joined them and loomed menacingly. Oz might have gotten himself out, but there was way too big a chance these guys were carrying guns and he doubted his companion's suit was bulletproof.

The little procession made its way to the preacher's back room. The hospital smell was a little stronger here, Oz noted, and Greyback's scent maybe a little more recent. Then his companion's heart rate skyrocketed. He still looked calm outwardly, but internally he was anything but. He must have noticed something about the preacher, Oz realised. Oz consciously relaxed and started paying more attention himself.

"I hope you enjoyed our little service," Brother Geraldus said smoothly. Oz and Mr Blue Suit both shrugged and made non-committal noises. "What brought you to our little church?" The question was spoken lightly, but the preacher's face was hard and suspicious. He stared at Blue Suit intently.

"I happened to be passing," the young man said, and if Oz hadn't heard the stutter in his heartbeat he might well have believed him. "I saw the notice on the board about the service so I thought I'd come in."

"Ditto," Oz said before Geraldus could press his interrogation. "Wasn't expecting to go to church this morning." He gestured to his clothing.

Geraldus's lip curled. "An American," he said in a harder voice. "And now suppose you tell me the real reason why you came." Oz arched an eyebrow and let his companion go through the English outrage routine. He didn't speak until Geraldus decided they needed to take a truth drug to see if they were good enough for the Brotherhood.

"No," he said firmly. "No injections. Had a bad experience once." Which was drastically underselling the Initiative. Oz's metabolism might or might not process a truth serum so quickly it didn't matter, but he was pretty sure Blue Suit didn't have any such advantage.

The preacher merely smiled thinly and pointed out they had no choice in the matter. There was a doctor present to administer the drug safely, and refusing now practically confirmed they had ulterior motives.

Oz was considering how to break free and take down the men — he wasn't a practised fighter so he needed to think about these things — when the door burst open and another man intruded. He was tall, solidly build and obviously not happy. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

The men froze in uncertainty. "Who are you?" Geraldus fired back.

"What's that got to do with you?" was the dismissive reply. "Some pals of mine came into your lousy tabernacle and didn't come out, so I came in to see why. What's all the fuss about?"

Oz carefully didn't react to being casually included in the rescue, and let Blue Suit take the lead. "They were proposing to initiate us into their Brotherhood," he said, sounding highly offended.

"Pah! Don't make me laugh," sneered Big Guy. "You told me you were coming with me to Hamstead Heath. What are you messing about here for? If I hadn't happened to see you drift into the church I shouldn't have known where you were. Come on, we ain't got no time ter lose if we're a'goin'."

Oz contrived to look apologetic as he shook off the hands holding him. Geraldus didn't seem to know what to do about this development, and Oz didn't plan on giving him time to recover. There was a bit more back and forth between Geraldus and the big guy, but within a minute they were striding out of the church, keeping careful watch for tails.

"Thanks for the save," Oz said once it seemed safe. He offered his hand. "I'm Oz."

"Funny kind of name," Blue Suit remarked curiously.

"Nickname," Oz clarified. "Daniel Osbourne."

"Nigel Norman Peters, but call me Cub." The young man grinned and indicated his larger companion. "This is Copper."

Copper was not so easily won over, it seemed. "So what's a Yank doing in a place like that?" he asked.

"Pretty much what you were," Oz replied, unruffled. Some suspicion was natural. "You know those are bad guys, right?"

Cub nodded. "Werewolves," he said. "The Nazi Underground, that is."

Oz vaguely recollected something about Nazi spy rings using that name from his Twentieth Century World History lessons. He decided not to point out that the group could be, and possibly were, both Nazis and real werewolves. "I'm hunting this dangerous guy, Fenrir Greyback," he said instead. "I tried the church and got lucky."

"You recognised him?"

"No, but he'd been there." Oz tapped the side of his nose, trying for the mysterious and knowledgeable look. "You?"

"Much the same," Cub admitted. "We wounded a Werewolf when we last encountered them, and their getaway car paused here. He's probably still there. The place stinks of iodoform, and the doctor is there too," he told Copper.

"So I saw," Copper replied. "I spotted his car up the street after you'd gone in. Made me right anxious, that did."

They stopped by a car. "So what do you plan to do next?" Cub asked Oz.

Oz shrugged. "Sneak back in tonight?" he offered. "I'm guessing you don't want me messing up your plans, though."

"You are right, chum," Copper said in a not entirely friendly way. "Get in and we'll figure it out."

Oz ended up in the passenger seat, next to Copper. It probably made his new friends feel safer, and he didn't think they had the weaponry to really hurt him.

"Well," Copper demanded, "what are we goin' ter do?"

Cub, it seemed, was the planner. He outlined their options concisely, in a way that made it clear they were ex-military. Or current military doing some kind of undercover op in their own country, but that might just be Oz's paranoia talking. Oz agreed that their best bet was to wait and watch. If Wenson — the name they used for the preacher — did move his spy operation somewhere else, they could follow. Either way they could report with more certainty to their ex-Commanding Officer, who went by the curious name of Gimlet.

"Captain Lorrington King," Cub explained at Oz's raised eyebrow. "He's stuck down in Devon judging a flower show tomorrow." Very British of him, Oz thought.

"So," Cub said when Copper had moved the car and gone to check if there was a back way out of the church. "You've heard our story. How did you come to be on the trail of this Greyback fellow?"

"Literally the closest person," Oz said. It was true, there hadn't been anyone closer when Jesse alerted them to Greyback's escape through the portal. "It was all very last second. I didn't even have time to pack."

"You're part of some organisation?" Cub asked. "Like Military Intelligence?"

Oz made a somewhat vague gesture. He wasn't sure what intelligence agencies the US had at this time. The Demon Research Initiative had certainly existed during World War 2, but he wasn't going to claim to be part of that. Cub was most likely fishing for what extra resources Oz could bring in, so it was best to set his expectations low. "I don't officially exist," he said. "Might get some backup in a week or so, but..." He let the sentence trail off. Even if the portal was still open and Buffy let anyone through, and Oz's guess about how far the portal had skipped was right, this whole business could well be over by then.

Cub looked thoughtful. "What did Greyback do to get your attention?" he asked.

"He murdered six people in the US in cold blood," Oz told him. "One of them was a baby."

"I know the sort," Cub said grimly. "And now he's here, with a bunch of other cold-hearted killers."

"Back here," Oz felt obliged to point out. "He's British."

They watched for hours. Copper's news that the back entranceway was too small for a car at least meant they didn't have to split up to be sure the church wasn't being abandoned, so all three of them got to hash out what was going on as they waited. Oz wasn't entirely sure he believed Cub's assertion that this wasn't the Werewolves' headquarters, but that didn't really matter to what they were doing. It was clearly pretty major, and from Oz's point of view it was his only lead to Greyback.

Eventually the wintry light began to fade. "We shan't be able to watch from here much longer," Copper observed.

"If they haven't gone by now then we can pretty well take it for certain that Wenson's decided to stay," Cub concluded.

Copper disagreed. "They may have slipped out down that back way," he pointed out.

"I could soon settle that," Cub said, "by knocking on the door."

"Are you nuts?" Copper exclaimed.

Oz couldn't disagree. "Risky," he noted.

Cub smiled. "Not at all," he said. "I could just go along and say that I was sorry about the rumpus this morning. Apart from giving us the information we need it may help to settle any uneasiness that Wenson may feel. I mean it should help convince him that our visit this morning was straight and above board."

"You want me along too?" Oz asked. Two would be safer than one. Probably.

"No," Cub said after a moment's thought. "The fewer people there are, the more likely he is to believe it."

"'Sides, everyone expects Yanks to be rude," Copper said off-handedly. "No offence, mate."

"None taken," Oz said evenly.

Cub slipped out of the car, and seemed to leave the serious military planner behind. The young man striding jauntily down the street didn't seem to have a care in the world. Oz was impressed, and said so.

"You don't know the 'arf of it," Copper told him. "First time we met Cub, 'e appears out of nowhere, tells us the skipper's stuck in a Nazi trap and 'elps get him out. Sixteen years old and he was running a bloomin' Resistance cell."

Oz nodded. He didn't find the story too hard to believe, but then he had known a lot of competent teenagers.

It wasn't long before Cub was back in the car, cheerfully ignoring Copper's growls about not trusting Wenson. The man was still there and at least a bit mollified, that was the important thing.

"So what next?" Oz asked.

"I think for a start we ought to go back to headquarters," Cub decided. "At the very least the General will want a world with you."

Oz shrugged. That was not going to be a fun conversation, but there was no getting out of it without making things worse. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

"Then we'll have a night's rest. In the morning we'll run down to Lorrington to see how the others are getting on."

"Suits me," agreed Copper, and started the car.


	2. Oz Fesses Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently the famous "Keep Calm And Carry On" posters were never actually issued during WW2 (see Wikipedia if you want more information). For the sake of a quiet life, please assume that they were in this world.

Oz did not, in the end, spend any time down in Devon the following day. It was probably for the best, he mused. Willow had spent a lot of time with a coven down there, a coven which probably existed at this time. If they were near Lorrington, they might notice the arrival of a werewolf of the furry variety. And that could turn awkward very fast.

Copper had driven them to a badly bombed-out area called Brummel Square where, after a lot of cloak and dagger manoeuvres, Oz had finally met the man in charge. General Sir Saxon Craig looked like a mild, self-effacing Englishman of no particular note. Having seen Giles in full Ripper mode, Oz did not believe that for a second. The General had immediately decreed an early dinner, which Oz had been grateful for. 'Portal lag' had added at least two hours to his day, so it was well past dinnertime as far as his stomach was concerned.

Cub had delicately pointed out that Oz had no other clothing with him, so dressing for dinner was out of the question. Oz had looked questioningly at Copper, who had rolled his eyes. General Craig had been appalled.

"We can't have that," he exclaimed, sending flunkies off. "Were you trying to make yourself recognisable?"

Oz shrugged. "Had no chance to pack," he explained.

"That simply won't do at all," the General fussed. "Our enemies are certain to recognise and disapprove of the message you are wearing."

Oz looked down at his _Keep Calm and Carry On_ T-shirt. "It's good advice," he said.

The General chuckled. "But rather rubbing their noses in it, I fear. I wasn't aware His Majesty's Government had licensed such outlandish garments," he added off-handedly.

Oz recognised the bear-trap for what it was. "Point," he replied. "Should've asked before printing one."

"I dare say one can be overlooked," the General allowed.

In short order Oz was supplied with a suit, shirt, tie and shoes, all of which appeared to be essential for attending dinner with the General. Oz was under no illusions that his attendance was optional, so he changed quickly. He made sure his wallet and phone stayed on him rather leaving them for someone to notice how anachronistic they were.

When he returned, the General sighed and declared it would have to do. Oz was just grateful that everything was slightly large on him. He was not by nature a tie wearer, and the generous shirt collar at least gave him breathing room.

Oz was not quizzed as much as he expected over dinner. The General took the group's report, of course, and asked much the same questions about Oz's reasons for hunting down Greyback, but asked very little about Oz's background. Apparently it was enough to know that Oz was helpfully inclined and had approximately no resources. Oz found that lackadaisical attitude somewhat at odds with the convoluted security on the house, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

It dropped at the end of dessert. The dishes were just being cleared away when the General turned to him and said, "We really do need to do something about your wardrobe tomorrow, Mr Osbourne. I'm sure Captain King's men will be able to manage without you." He wanted a private conversation, Oz translated, or possibly an interrogation.

"Sure," he said easily, "if that's OK with you guys?" He didn't want to make life more difficult by avoiding the General, but he would if they thought his presence was required.

Copper sent him a sympathetic look, evidently not having picked up on the subtext. Cub's stare was much more measured, but he made no objection. Oz smiled. "Guess I'm all yours," he told the General.

Oz woke early, pretty much as he had expected. He took the opportunity to meditate and exercise before breakfast. There was no telling when or if he would have time afterwards.

By the time Oz followed his nose back down to the dining room, breakfast was in full swing. He greeted Cub, Copper and the General, and was directed over to the sideboard where an utterly unreasonable amount of food was being kept warm. Oz opted for a rice and fish dish — kedgeree, he was told — that was the closest he was likely to get to his normal breakfast in the monastery. He didn't say anything about that, of course. He hadn't tried insisting on vegetarian food while on tour, and now didn't seem like a good time to start.

Cub and Copper finished quickly, with the air of men used to fitting food around more urgent activities. They apologised for leaving so early, but they had several hours of driving ahead of them before they could meet up with Captain King. Oz had to take a moment to recalibrate his idea of how far several hours of driving would get them.

The General did not immediately start questioning Oz. He opted to wait until Oz had finished eating, simply making observations on articles in the morning newspaper. "Are you sure you've had enough?" he asked when Oz pushed his plate away and made no move to resupply himself.

Oz shook his head. "I eat lightly," he admitted. "Good food, though." That kedgeree stuff had been pleasant. On the other hand, the less said about the coffee, the better.

The General led Oz through to a study and seated himself behind a desk. "Mr Osbourne," he began, "I can't help but notice the lack of details accompanying your story. You do not carry yourself in a military manner, nor have you identified yourself as an OSS agent should. I do hope I do not have to inform General Donovan that a federal agent has been operating so far outside his remit."

It wasn't exactly a question, but the General clearly expected an answer. "Not military, not FBI," Oz said carefully. His relationship with the Watchers was complicated enough in his own time, he didn't want to confuse things further. Still, he had to offer the General something. "I'm basically doing a favour for friends," he tried.

"You are acting in a purely personal capacity?" the General asked somewhat sceptically. Oz nodded. "With essentially no resources or support?" Oz smiled ruefully. "That would appear to be quite the favour."

"It's bigger than we thought," Oz admitted. He had only been expecting to time travel twenty years or so after all.

"Indeed." The General steepled his fingers and looked at Oz consideringly. "You have also been remarkably reticent about how you came to be in this country with so little preparation. Travelling by any normal means you should at least have been able to acquire some currency."

Oz rather wished he hadn't had to admit to Cub that he had no British money on him. "Opportunity didn't arise," he said. "It all happened very fast."

"And not through any of the regular ports I'll wager."

Oz inclined his head. Even claiming to have come through an American air base was problematic. The moment anyone official tried to check up on him, his lack of records would raise flags.

The General watched him for a good minute. Oz just let the silence flow over him. There was no point in worrying after all. "If I were to drop your name to Bartholemew Travers, what reaction should I expect?" the General asked suddenly.

Travers. That had been the name of the Head Watcher when they were all blown up. It was unlikely to be a coincidence, Oz thought. "He's never heard of me, I hope," he said.

"You might be surprised," the General replied drily. "His sources are a trifle unusual."

Oz nodded. "I'd rather you didn't involve the Watchers. They can be... territorial." They would probably try to kill him once they figured out he was a werewolf, for one thing.

The General seemed to take Oz's tacit admission that he was involved with the supernatural in his stride. "Travers did choose to share a poem with me," he said in a manner that suggested 'choose' was not the right word.

> _"At the Hour of the Wolf_  
>  _The Cats must play with the Eagle_  
>  _And Wolf war on Wolf_  
>  _For the circle to close."_

"I couldn't help but notice that Captain King's commando unit were known as King's Kittens," the General concluded.

"So you were expecting an American," Oz said. He sighed. The General was not going to like what he said next, but he'd like it even less if Oz didn't share with the class. "Greyback's a werewolf. The teeth and claws type."

The General raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I should call on Travers," he said.

Oz winced.

"Hm." The General watched Oz carefully. "Cats playing with the Eagle could be interpreted in a number of ways. Why should they not be regarding you as prey?"

Nothing for it, Oz thought. "Because Wolf warring on Wolf isn't about the Nazis falling out with each other." He gave the General a thin smile with more teeth than usual. "Probably a good idea to issue silver weapons anyway."

"I see," the General said surprisingly calmly. He must have at least considered the possibility to be so unperturbed. Oz was quite impressed despite himself. "I must say I was expecting there to be a good deal more red meat in your diet."

"I'm a Buddhist," Oz explained. "I'm used to vegetarian food."

Oz was unsurprised to have a minder for the rest of the day. Officially the plainclothes policeman was there for liaison, but Oz didn't doubt for a moment that Preece would be reporting exactly what Oz did back to the General. Still, it gave Oz the opportunity to go back to the area around the chapel and have a careful sniff around. With his borrowed clothes and his hair flattened down, Oz didn't stand out nearly as much as he had before, even with his plainclothed shadow.

The chapel was in a side road off the Whitechapel Road, which seemed to make it instantly identifiable to Londoners. Preece had no difficulty driving them there at any rate, nor in finding somewhere out of sight to park. The two of them spent hours strolling apparently aimlessly through the nearby streets, careful not to get too close to the chapel itself. Oz had been hoping to catch Greyback's scent, but it didn't seem like the other werewolf had so much as stepped out of the back door. For him to stay cooped up for so long seemed unlikely. There must, Oz reasoned, be another way out of the building.

It wasn't until they were practically back at the car that Oz found something, and he wasn't sure it was interesting at first. Pressed into the mud at the foot of a lonely and rather sickly tree was a stick. Oz only paid it any attention because it was obviously carved, made into something a person might hold. The werewolves in the warehouse had all been wielding organically-shaped wands like that, presumably for their ritual since they mostly dropped them to go on the attack. Either that or they had been too feral not to use tooth and claw. Greyback however had used his to cast magic, so it had to be some kind of focus or enchanted item. Snape had used something similar, too.

Carefully, Oz pried the wand out of the mud. It looked like it had been there for a while, though Oz couldn't have said whether that meant a couple of days or a couple of months. Wiping the wand off, he sniffed it cautiously. There was a scent of werewolf, so faint that Oz wasn't sure he wasn't imagining it.

"What is that?" Preece asked.

Oz snapped it in half. "An advantage Greyback doesn't have any more," he replied. He would have loved to send it to Willow, but she wasn't even born yet. Far more important to make sure the enemy couldn't use it.

Since showers weren't an option, Oz treated himself to a bath that evening. He had filled the General in on his conclusions over dinner, and the two of them agreed that there wasn't much to be done until the commandos returned the following afternoon. Soaking in the tub, Oz reflected that for a day that had started so poorly, it hadn't gone that badly. He'd had to tell the General much more than he had wanted to, but the enemy were much less likely to be using magic against them, and it looked very much like they didn't know they had been identified. Tomorrow they would be able to plan how to take on the wolves in their den.

Properly clean and thoroughly relaxed, Oz turned in for an early night. He got a whole three hours sleep before circumstances overtook his plans.


	3. Gimlet Drops In

Oz was woken in the early hours by the unexpected return of the commandos. Gimlet had been kidnapped out from under their noses, apparently, and they were sure he was being taken to the chapel for a mockery of a trial. By the time Oz was dressed and downstairs, Cub had talked the General into letting them sneak in without waiting for backup.

"I'm going with you," Oz declared. Cub eyed him uncertainly. "If Greyback's there, you'll need me." The General had ordered custom ammunition, but was due to arrive in the morning. The man was probably kicking himself for not anticipating this.

The General did indeed look like he was sucking a lemon. "He is correct, regrettably," he told Cub, "and if you are right you don't have time to argue. Do you have everything you're likely to require?"

"We've got guns and torches. They should be enough, sir." Cub looked enquiringly at Oz.

Oz shrugged on his jacket and patted the pocket where he'd stashed Buffy's knife. "I'm good."

The others were waiting out in the car, which was where Oz got to meet their third musketeer. 'Trapper' Troublay had the thinnest moustache Oz had ever seen, a prominent scar down the left side of his face, and a very French accent. Oz considered all this as Copper drove them through the London night. "Canadian?" he asked.

Trapper gave him a measuring look, then just nodded.

Oz smiled and left it at that.

Once they arrived in Whitechapel Road and the lookout disguised as a tramp was sleeping off an encounter with Copper's fist, they had a cautious look around outside the chapel. Not a light was showing anywhere.

"Come on, let's get into the joint," Copper growled softly. He led the way along a narrow alley to the window he had broken in through last time. Unfortunately, as he put it, he was a fool to suppose that the same trick would work twice. Not only was the latch wedged, but iron bars were blocking the window frame. "We'd need a hacksaw to cut a way in and we didn't bring one with us," Copper lamented. "No use wasting time fetching one. We'll have to find another way in. If there ain't one it'll be the first time I've been beat."

Oz considered trying his enhanced strength against the bars. He discarded the idea as impractical; if he succeeded, the noise would give them away. Also he would need to shift to use his full strength, and they didn't have the time for that conversation right now.

Unsurprisingly the doors were all locked, and disappointingly thick. As Cub sarcastically remarked, taking an axe to them would make a certain amount of noise. Every window they came to had been treated the same as the first, both barred and wedged firmly shut. Copper was undaunted. "I'll bet there's one they've forgot," he murmured. "It'll be either the pantry or the lavatory. People usually make the mistake of thinkin' they're too small for a man ter get through. It's easy. You'll see."

He was right. One small window was left unbarred, though it was so small Oz doubted even Buffy would have tried it. However when Cub went through feet first as Copper instructed, he slid in easily. When Oz went to follow, Copper stopped him.

"One person's quieter than two," he said. "Let 'im get the door for us."

Oz nodded reluctantly. If it had been one of the Scoobies, he would have been perfectly content to wait, he reminded himself. Still, it was a long couple of minutes before the back door opened and they slid inside.

Oz listened hard, hoping to catch some conversation further into the building. He zeroed in on voices just moments before someone opened and closed a door not far away. The commandos heard too. They immediately formed up and moved towards the sound, Cub in the lead, leaving Oz to trail along behind. Passing by the vestry, they came to a second door in the short corridor. "In there," Cub breathed.

Before Oz could even draw breath, the door opened. Squinting against the light and gagging on the sudden hospital-like scent of iodoform, Oz made out the doctor who had intended to inject them with a truth drug. Unfortunately the commandos seemed just as surprised. They had barely started moving when the doctor slammed the door shut. A shout of alarm went up from the other side of the door.

"Get going, Copper," Cub snapped.

Copper got going. He expertly smashed the lock open with his boot, then side-stepped quickly. Wisely too; a pistol shot from the room sent a bullet into the opposite wall of the corridor. The lights in the room went out, but Trapper was already shooting. Oz could clearly hear the softer thud of bullets hitting flesh.

By the time Oz got into the room, he could see by the light of Cub's torch that the doctor was down, his heartbeat weak and slowing. Copper threw another man, dressed in pyjamas, onto a camp bed. Evidently he had tried to escape through a door on the far side of the room.

"Never mind him," Cub said shortly. "There must be others. It's Gimlet we want."

Cub and Copper hurried off through the door. Oz spared a moment to raise an eyebrow at Trapper, who had pulled out some cord and was advancing on the doctor's patient. When Trapper waved him on, Oz didn't hang around.

He caught up with Cub and Copper in a larger room which, by his reckoning, must be under the main chapel. He was peripherally aware of the smells of recent occupation and the trappings of a courtroom, but his attention was focused on the door opposite, slowly sliding closed.

With a shout, Copper hurled a chair across the room, jamming the doorway open. Oz raced over and despite Cub's warning cry leapt through the opening. Better him than the others, he thought; gunfire would make a mess of his borrowed clothes but do no more lasting damage.

There was no shooting as he landed in a crouch, but the growl from further along the brick corridor told him he had still made the right decision. In the dim light he could just make out a humanoid figure and the coloured flash of werewolf eyes.

Oz stood and strode forward confidently. Exactly as he had hoped, the werewolf took that as a challenge and charged him with a roar. Years of training in the monastery made the throw automatic, indeed Oz thought of it more as allowing the werewolf to hurl himself at the floor. His knife was in his hand as he turned, and the silver blade stabbed down before the wolf could even climb back to his feet. Oz didn't enjoy killing, but he had faced enough supernatural nasties to know it wasn't often optional. He somehow doubted the commandos would object.

"What the 'ell was that?" Copper demanded. He had been close enough behind Oz to see the fur and the fangs.

"Werewolf," Oz said nonchalantly. "Come on."

The corridor behind the door eventually ended in a T-junction with a much wider passage, partially underwater. Oz could hear sounds of people, but they echoed confusingly off the brick walls and he couldn't tell which direction they were coming from. He took a sniff and gagged.

"It's one of the old sewers," Copper said shortly. "Which way did they go?"

"Don't know," Oz admitted.

"We should split up."

Oz was saved from having to argue about that by the arrival of Cub and Trapper. Trapper spent mere seconds examining the ledge next to the... water before declaring the Werewolves had headed right.

Cub took the lead, running probably more than was wise given how little he could see in the torchlight. Oz made sure to be next, partly because he could see more than the others in the low light, and partly in case more werewolves were waiting for a crack at them. Up ahead at some distance came the groaning sound of breaking woodwork, and shortly thereafter they began to see the grey predawn light. Apparently the end of the tunnel had been boarded over, but someone had ripped the boards off with werewolf strength. A simple boot would have done well enough, Oz thought. Greyback was showing off.

Figures were visible against the light. Cub put on a spurt, and moments later Oz's ears were assaulted by the sounds of a motor boat engine. He and Cub pretty much sprinted for the end of the tunnel. After a moment Oz could make out figures moving on the boat, shouting, and a loud splash. "Someone's in the water," he noted.

The boat didn't wait for whoever it was. The engine noise increased and it moved rapidly out into the river. By the time Cub stepped through the advertising hoarding that had covered the tunnel, it was fading into the thick fog hanging over the Thames.

Cub didn't hesitate, but threw off his jacket and jumped into the water feet first. The boat might be out of their reach, but whoever went over wasn't. Oz elected to stay on dry land, joined quickly by Copper and Trapper.

"What's going on?" Copper demanded.

"Someone fell in," Oz told him.

Cub stopped thrashing around and stood. The water came up to his chest, and he struggled to keep the man he was holding above water. Oz and Copper helped drag the man onto the bank, where Copper made short work of the rope tying his hands behind his back.

"Blimey sir," Copper said, "you look a right mess."

And that was how Oz met Captain Lorrington 'Gimlet' King.


	4. What The Werewolves Left Behind

They left the police in charge of the chapel and returned to Brummel Square. Oz took advantage of another hot bath and a change of clothes to get the smell of the sewer out of his nostrils. Then he went through his morning exercises before coming down to what was still an extremely early breakfast.

Comparing notes in front of the General, Oz finally had a chance to observe Gimlet in his element. He was red-headed, which Oz naturally approved of, and walked with a slight limp. In attitude he was so like a more confident version of Giles that Oz felt positively nostalgic. He took charge of the briefing with the easy familiarity of someone used to dealing with senior officers and not the least bit intimidated by titles. There was a strong touch of Riley Finn in with the Giles, Oz thought. He wondered again whether working with the military was in fact better than working with the Watchers.

Gimlet had been drugged, apparently. Someone had left a poisoned drawing pin for him to sit on — the General had helpfully supplied a sample taken from the chapel — that injected him with a knockout drug. It had worked so insidiously that it was only when he stood up to speak to the annual prize-giving ceremony that he realised something was up. Then the lights had gone out and he must have fallen unconscious before they snatched him.

The Werewolves — the Nazis — were fond of over-elaborate plans, Oz thought. Also someone had just used the word 'insidious' in front of him completely seriously. Cool.

Gimlet had been brought round in the imitation courtroom Oz and the others had chased through. "Wenson acted as prosecuting council," he said crisply. "The judge wore a mask, worse luck, and the others had that ridiculous werewolf headdress. The only name mentioned was Greyback, a tall chap who was disdainful of the whole affair. He kept interrupting proceedings. I rather got the impression he wanted to kill me without all the theatre."

Oz nodded. "Fenrir Greyback," he said. "Very dangerous."

"Who the 'ell calls their kid Fenrir?" Copper wondered.

Gimlet cleared his throat pointedly. He finished his report, describing how the firefight upstairs and news of the police raid had caused the courtroom to evacuate. Wenson had apparently decided to take him with them, and had ordered Greyback to carry him. Greyback had point-blank refused, and had laughed when Gimlet made things hard for the guards dragging him along. "Finally, when we could hear you chaps running up the tunnel, even Wenson lost his temper and took a swipe at me with the butt of his pistol. I ducked, but not quite fast enough, and ended up in the drink."

"I saw that," Cub declared. He took up the story, explaining what had happened while Gimlet had been away. Including Oz, naturally.

"Daniel Osbourne," Oz said by way of introduction. He gave Gimlet a little wave across the table. "I'm after Greyback."

"Ah." Gimlet sat back and steepled his fingers. "What can you tell us about the inestimable Mr Fenrir Greyback?" he asked.

Oz took a moment to marshal the little he did know. "A killer," he said. "British, but you won't find any records of him. Arrogant. Vicious. Gives werewolves a bad name."

"I noticed he and Wenson didn't get along," Gimlet said drily.

"He's more the traditional sort," Oz agreed.

"Amusing as your wordplay is," the General said, not sounding at all amused, "I think Captain King and his men need to know what they are facing."

Oz inclined his head in acknowledgement. "He is a werewolf," he said. "Fur and fangs around the full moon. Smarter and more dangerous the rest of the time."

There was a moment's silence, then Cub burst out laughing. "That's preposterous," he said. "There's no such thing as werewolves."

"I don't know," Copper said, looking at Oz thoughtfully. "That bloke down the sewer...?"

"Was a werewolf," Oz confirmed. "Pretty new too. He didn't have much self-control. Greyback must have bitten him recently."

Cub turned to Gimlet. "Sir?" he appealed.

Gimlet rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It would make sense of some of the arguments between Wenson and Greyback," he said reluctantly. "Very well, let us assert that Greyback is a real werewolf. You are a werewolf hunter then, Mr Osbourne?"

"I'm a musician," Oz corrected. "I'm also a werewolf."

"Fur and fangs near the full moon," Gimlet said, dry as a desert. He was tensed for action though.

"Only when I want them these days," Oz replied. "The transformation hurts, so I mostly don't want to. Still makes me faster, stronger and tougher than you'd expect. Better senses too. Greyback will be the same or more so."

There was a long pause as the commandos digested that with varying levels of credulity.

"What about the Werewolves we captured?" Cub asked eventually. "Have they said anything useful?"

"They're dead," the General informed him. "The tramp lookout came round and was shot resisting arrest. The doctor died of gunshot wounds on his way to hospital. Finally the patient killed himself with poison rather like those you caught at the Hotel Europa. In the future we shall have to try to remember to unscrew those false teeth they are so fond of," he observed rather pointedly.

There had been no hope of the River Police finding the motor launch in the fog, and apparently London had no shortage of places they could have holed up. The General had dealt with their last viable lead himself; apparently the late Dr Guthram Paul's house contained nothing of interest and his housekeeper wasn't saying anything.

"What's happening at the chapel?" Gimlet asked.

"I've got two of the best men from the Yard going through the place with a fine tooth comb," the General replied. "If you feel up to it, I was going to suggest we go back there and see what the search has turned up."

Gimlet did indeed feel up to it, so they adjourned back to Whitechapel Road. On the way, Oz caught up with the theories and details that no one had thought to mention before. Things like this being the second attempt on Gimlet's life, the Werewolves having access to an aircraft, and the number of people they had already managed to murder. Oz was coming round to Cub's opinion that Wenson was not in overall charge. The guy had very much taken the lead when Oz and Cub had been cornered in the chapel, but that did seem to be his territory. The fact that he hadn't been playing judge in Gimlet's kangaroo court made it seem less likely that he was top dog.

The Scotland Yard searchers had been thorough, Oz had to give them that. They had found an incredible amount of stuff, some of it hidden in secret compartments in the floors and walls. Granted most of it was clothing, but it still made Oz feel like he was in a spy movie. It was going to take them hours to go through it all, even given that the searchers had neatly laid everything out for them.

Naturally everyone present gravitated to the weaponry. Garroting ropes, daggers, grenades, and a whole host of deadly-looking bottles, jars and canisters were out on display. All easy to replace, the General observed, but pretty impressive all the same in Oz's opinion. Oz himself was more interested in the wolf masks that had been found lying in a cupboard. Some of them were actually gas masks, and had been used when the commandos had first met the Werewolves in a London hotel. They looked nothing like a real werewolf, Oz was pleased to note. Also they restricted the wearer's vision badly, making them horrible to fight in.

The prize of the weapons collection was a large, well-polished axe. A German executioner's axe, the General declared. Oz nodded. "Too unwieldy for combat," he said, and moved on. He managed not to smile when Copper gave him a disbelieving look.

Since they were mostly standing around watching the experts pick over their findings, Oz paid no attention when a bored-looking Cub absented himself. He regretted that about ten minutes later when they heard the sharp crack of a pistol nearby.

"What the devil?" said the General, looking up from the boots he had been examining. Oz boggled for a moment that he had actually heard someone say those words.

"It came from the direction of the chapel," Gimlet said, all business. Copper was already at the door, his own pistol out. He and Trapper were barely into the corridor when Cub came barrelling through.

"Get out!" Cub shouted. "Don't ask questions — get out!"

Oz had long experience of not asking questions and getting out, so did so immediately. The commandos and the General equally seemed to be used to crisis situations. The police search experts were slower off the mark, but followed along when it became clear that no one was going to stop and answer their questions. They were trailing badly when Cub finally stopped, a good distance away from the building.

"Run!" he yelled at the slow-moving police.

"What's going on?" Gimlet asked.

Cub coloured slightly. "There's a Wolf in there," he said, waving at the chapel.

"Then what—?" Gimlet got out before the explosion interrupted him.

Oz took a moment to let the flashback to Graduation wash over him before getting back to his feet. That bomb in the chapel must easily have been as big as the one Giles and Xander put together in the library. The building certainly wasn't there any more. At least they were all bruised but unbroken.

There were shouts of alarm from all around as they picked themselves up. The General was incongruously still holding the boots he had been studying.

"What the devil was that?" Gimlet demanded.

Cub explained that he had come across a Werewolf — the spy sort — cutting into the wall to get at a plunger. Cub had challenged the man and shot him when he pushed the plunger anyway. "I had a feeling something like that might happen," he finished, indicating the pile of rubble that had been the Werewolves' base.

The General sighed. "I suppose we should have taken precautions against such a thing happening," he said wearily. "Let's get back to headquarters. At least I saved the boots."


	5. Biggles Lends A Hand

The boots were apparently the sort of things pilots wore. More interesting to the General was the mud on them. After lunch, he announced that the police labs had done some tests and made a series of deductions that Sherlock Holmes would have approved of to narrow down where those boots had been. Oz was pretty impressed. He knew soil analysis was a tool in the CSIs' toolbox, but he'd had no idea it had got started so early.

So the boots, and hence the pilot, had been in the Norfolk Broads. These were a large area of marshy lakes not too far away from London, Oz was told. He resolved to go look at an atlas later; his grasp of British geography extended about as far as 'London and Devon exist.' The others at least seemed to think it made sense, especially given the Werewolves had used a flying boat before. None of them were keen on the idea of searching such a large, sparsely populated area, however.

Fortunately they didn't have to. The General had contacts with planes of their own, and he called them up straight away. He seemed confident that it would only take them a few hours to find where the aircraft was based. Oz was doubtful, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it.

What he could do something about, and what Gimlet insisted on, was fully briefing the commandos about werewolves. What they were like, how to fight them, the works. Oz hadn't talked so much in a very long time.

"So it's a curse," Cub mused afterwards, "but you can control it." He picked up a silver commando dagger and some of the very limited supply of silver bullets from the pile of weapons the General supplied.

Oz waved his hand in a 'so-so' sort of gesture. "If you have a lot of practise in meditation, and even then it's hard around the full moon. I'm good, but I still try to avoid stress around then."

"A good thing it isn't a full moon for over a week then," Cub remarked. Which was something Oz should have asked about, he realised. It had completely slipped his mind that the phase of the moon might not be the same as when he had come from.

"Huh," he said. "Forgot to check that."

Gimlet looked at him keenly. "You're tired," he pointed out. "Take a nap now, we'll be on an operation this evening with any luck. That goes for all of you. I don't want any silly mistakes because someone fell asleep on the job."

A few hours of sleep did Oz a power of good. He wandered back downstairs a little after 6 o'clock to find a young red-haired man about his age lounging around. "The other are all in with Biggles," the man said helpfully in one of those weird British accents. "My C.O.," he continued at Oz's raised eyebrow. "I mean, the head of the Special Air Police."

"Ah," Oz said, nodding sagely. "And you are?"

"Ginger. Hebblethwaite." The young man offered his hand eagerly, then paused for a second. "You're American?"

Oz nodded again and shook hands. "Oz," he said by way of introduction.

Ginger's eyes narrowed. "As in _The Wizard of_?" he asked.

"No relation. Daniel Osbourne."

"So how did you end up over here with these guys?" Ginger asked curiously.

"Accident mostly," Oz admitted. "The guy I went after joined up with the guys they went after."

"I'd say that sort of thing only happened in the movies," Ginger said, "but..." Oz knew what he meant. His teenage years could have been turned into a decent horror movie, and it looked like Ginger had seen enough non-supernatural excitement to qualify. Especially if he had been a pilot during the war. Probably not a thing to ask about in polite company though.

"You a movie buff then?" Oz asked to be sociable.

"I only go every chance I get," Ginger admitted proudly. "I suppose you must get to go a lot more in the States?"

Oz shrugged. "I kinda got out of the habit," he said apologetically. "I've spent a lot of time in Tibet." The monastery did in fact have a small but carefully selected DVD collection, but Oz rarely felt the urge to escape into that sort of fantasy. "I guess my life is enough of a movie for me," he concluded.

Ginger looked disappointed. "Well, I won't keep you from the briefing then," he said.

Oz dismissed the idea pretty much instantly. "Nah, I'm good," he said. "I'm not really a plan guy. In fact with my friends I'm more of the van guy."

"Van g— Oh, you mean you're the driver." Ginger's voice held contempt for those limited to two dimensions.

"Don't knock the van," Oz chided gently. "It can move a lot of stuff, plus you can sleep in the back." He had. A lot.

"It's still not a patch on flying," Ginger declared.

"If you've got a runway," Oz agreed. He doubted he was going to change Ginger's mind any time soon.

"And I've slept in planes before." Ginger looked like he was having second thoughts about that statement immediately after he said it.

"Cheaper than a motel when you're on a budget," Oz said neutrally.

The next few moments of silence seemed quite painful for Ginger. "What's it like growing up in the States?" he asked in the world's most awkward change of subject.

Oz squashed the urge to tell him the truth. "Probably a lot like growing up over here," he said instead.

"I doubt that," Ginger said, scowling.

"You go to school, hang out with friends, defeat ancient evils, the usual cool stuff," Oz told him, trying to lighten the mood.

"Defeat..?" Ginger's scowl deepened. "You know what, never mind."

"Seriously, it's a lot less exciting than living here for the last few years," Oz said placatingly. It was probably even true for the average American. "Definitely less exciting than flying lately."

"Says the secret agent."

"I mostly play guitar and live in a monastery," Oz pointed out. "You're Special Air Police."

Before Ginger could figure out what he wanted to ask about or object to in that statement, the meeting room doors opened. Gimlet strode out in the company of a short fair-haired man who must be Ginger's boss. "Ah, Oz," Gimlet said briskly. "Collect your kit together, we're leaving in ten minutes. I'll brief you on the way."

Oz nodded. "Cool," he said, and turned towards the stairs.

"Do you want anything from the General's collection?" Cub asked, shooting a quick glance at Ginger and his boss. "You didn't take anything earlier."

Oz had Buffy's dagger and reckoned the commandos could make better use of everything else. "Nah," he said easily, "I'm good."

Back in his guest room, he changed back into his own clothes. If he was going to squelch around in marshes he'd rather do it in comfortable jeans and sneakers. He stuffed a change of clothes into a knapsack just in case, stuck the silver knife in his belt and decided that was enough.

He managed not to smirk when Gimlet greeted him with the words "What the devil are you wearing?"


	6. A Wolf Lived In A Windmill

Grimston Broad was quiet, windswept and full of scents. It wouldn't be to everyone's taste, but Oz rather liked it. In an odd way it reminded him of the monastery with all the vertical taken out.

It had taken them three hours to drive up to Norfolk from London, during which time Oz had been given the full skinny on the isolated windmill and boathouse they were going to investigate. The idea of getting to see an actual working windmill was cool, even if it was likely to be full of Nazis.

When they said 'isolated', they really meant it. Gimlet had driven for two miles past the last village before hiding their car in one of the few thickets near enough the track (Oz wasn't going to call it a road) they were following and they still had miles to go. At least they had a track to follow, and the crescent moon gave just enough light to see it without making them too visible in turn.

The amount of purely mundane guns and ammo that came out of the trunk of the car faintly distressed Oz. Intellectually he knew that he was with military men doing something close enough to a military raid as to make no difference, but the sigh of Copper cradling a big machine gun like a baby really brought it home.

"Just like old times," Copper said fondly to the gun. "Do you think we'll need this, sir?"

"Better to have it and not need it then need it and not have it," Gimlet said philosophically. "You haven't forgotten how to handle one, I hope?"

"There's some things you don't ever forget, sir," Copper answered. "What say you, Trapper, old pal? Am I right?"

" _Tch!_ Every time," Trapper agreed. He pulled out a shortbow and a quiver of silvered arrows that paradoxically made Oz feel a lot better about the enterprise.

"Take a rifle as well", Gimlet ordered. "What about you, Cub?"

"I think my 38 should be sufficient," Cub said lightly. "Oz? What would sir like from the the menu?" He gestured extravagantly at the open trunk.

"I'm not much of a gun guy," Oz admitted. He wasn't anything of a gun guy really.

Copper shook his head. "A Yank that don't love a gun," he said sadly. "What is the world coming to?"

"If you're quite done?" Gimlet said testily. "Cub, since you're travelling light you can take this." He passed Cub a canvas bag.

"What's in here?" Cub asked.

"Grenades. I rather think we might have to do some winkling, and they'll do us absolutely no good left back here."

Gimlet outlined the plan again, which was basically to follow the track until they were sure a straighter route wouldn't land them in a marsh. Then they set off in single file on the strangest night walk Oz had ever been on. Sound carried over the water, making the distant chimes of a clock tower striking eleven disturbingly loud. The air was still, not so much as a slight breeze to stir the bushes. The commandos made very little noise themselves, little enough that Oz could still hear small creatures scurrying through the long grass. All in all it couldn't have been more different from strolling through a cemetery with Buffy.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of stalking quietly along the track, Gimlet called a halt. "The windmill is a trifle to the right," he whispered. Oz was impressed; even squinting he could only just make out the sails against the sky. "We'll try the boathouse first. That may tell us something. I think we might try a straight march now."

Copper stared out towards the windmill. "I don't see no light on," he reported.

"If they're there, they will have blacked out the place to avoid attracting attention," Gimlet replied. "Oz, are those better senses of yours telling you anything?"

Oz sniffed the air. "Gas fumes," he reported. "Not right for a car, maybe that plane?" He spent a moment sorting through the other scents. "Other people have been here recently. Including Greyback." Damn it, he thought, and pulled his T-shirt off.

"What are you doing?" Cub demanded in a whisper.

"Greyback's the type to go hunting," Oz replied. "If he's here, I need to be ready for him. Besides, I like this shirt." He took a deep breath and let the transformation happen.

If the commandos said anything as he went all furry, Oz didn't hear it. He hadn't been kidding when he said the transformation was painful, and it took him a moment to rein in his wolfy instincts. Trying to handle all of that if Greyback had been coming at him would probably have been fatal.

The night was alive to all his senses now. As a human his hearing was sharp enough to hear the heartbeat of someone he was talking to; wolfed out, he could hear heartbeats a mile away. The same was true for his sense of smell and his night vision. It took a little while to sort through everything, filtering out his companions and the wildlife.

"Muffled heartbeats that way," he whispered past elongated fangs, indicating the direction of the windmill. "Maybe a dozen people. They're kinda hard to count."

"We could have used a chap like you in France," Gimlet remarked. He seemed remarkably self-possessed when Oz reeled his attention back in, even if he wasn't as calm as he was making out. Oz approved.

Cub shook his head and took a calming breath. "At least we know no one else is out and about," he said.

"I wouldn't count on that," Gimlet retorted. "Greyback may be a savage, but he's also experienced. I'd wager he has a few hunting tricks up his sleeve to surprise us with." Oz nodded in agreement, as did Trapper.

The last part of the march was if anything more surreal. They opened their line out, Gimlet taking the lead and Oz tucked into the middle. Oz was fine with that; he could see more clearly than the commandos, but stalking through marshland was not his thing. Not having to concentrate on where they were going made it easier to listen out for danger, and to ignore the occasional urge to pounce on the small lunchables scurrying about their business.

He wasn't the only one straining his senses, of course. A flock of geese passing low overhead startled them all badly enough to dive for cover. That, Oz thought to himself, was just plain embarrassing. On the plus side, the mud did camouflage his pale skin.

The commandos said not a word to each other, but their looks spoke volumes.

The closer they got, the slower their progress became. Gimlet sometimes stopped and stared for a full minute at the boathouse, partially hidden still by shrubs. Presumably he was verifying for himself what Oz's ears were telling him, that all of the people nearby were in the windmill. Oz was cool with that; Gimlet was very much the expert at this, and must have led hundreds of similar raids. Oz was more used to the bad guys coming for him.

They regrouped just short of the boathouse. "I'm going in alone," Gimlet said so quietly Oz had to strain to make out the words. "I can't see or hear anyone inside, but let's not take too much for granted." Fair enough, Oz thought. He couldn't hear any heartbeats in the boathouse, but it was possible to soundproof a room enough that he couldn't hear in.

"Copper, find yourself a position out of sight between the boathouse and the windmill," Gimlet continued. "If anyone is in the boathouse and makes a break for it, that's the way he'll run. Stop him, but avoid shooting if possible. The rest of you stay here. If trouble starts in the boathouse, follow me in, otherwise wait here until I come back. Is that clear?"

"Clear enough, sir," Copper whispered. The rest nodded, Oz included.

Gimlet ghosted away remarkably quietly for someone who wasn't supernatural. Of course he did, Oz chided himself gently. His life, all of their lives must have depended many times on being that well-trained and that good. As the Abbot liked to point out, ordinary people were forever doing extraordinary things.

Oz found it harder than usual to keep himself calm while he waited. That wasn't unexpected. In wolf-form, his instincts to go hunt were strong. He didn't try to track Gimlet's progress, they would know soon enough if he was in trouble. Instead he went for the zen route, regulating his breathing and attempting to become one with the surroundings. He didn't entirely succeed, but he did well enough not to get twitchy in the ten minutes it took Gimlet to get back.

Once Copper was retrieved, Gimlet led them into the bushes to fill them in on what he had discovered. He confirmed what Oz had said earlier, that the place was in use for an aircraft or motor boat of some sort. The boathouse held everything you might need to fuel and service something motorised. Unfortunately what it didn't hold at the moment was the plane or boat itself.

"Then it's no go, sir," Copper murmured.

"Not so far as the boathouse is concerned," Gimlet agreed. "Without knowing how long the vehicle is going to be away for, it's much too risky to wait for it to return. We're going to have to try the windmill."

The distant heartbeats were less muffled for a moment. Oz's head shot up. At the same time Cub stiffened and held up his hand for silence. "I saw a flash," he breathed.

"Two people headed this way," Oz reported as quietly as he could.

"Stand fast," Gimlet ordered. Everyone froze where they were as the men walked down towards the boathouse. They were chatting to each other easily, no sign of stress in their voices, so they probably didn't know they were being watched. They also weren't speaking in English. That might be German, Oz thought, but he didn't know enough of the language to be sure.

Gimlet didn't move until the two men were safely inside the boathouse. Then he moved forwards, creeping up to the door the men hadn't bothered to close. Oz and the commandos followed with silent tread, not that the men were likely to hear anything over their conversation.

Before Gimlet could enter the boathouse, another sound drifted through the air. It was an aircraft engine, closer than Oz had expected. Another burst of conversation from the men and suddenly the reeds around the lakeside were lit up with a pale light. That would be a lot more visible from the air, Oz reckoned.

Gimlet backed up a step and whispered urgently, "That machine's coming here. We've got to get to those two before it lands. Trapper, stand fast to stop either of them getting back to the windmill. Oz, stay with him and make sure we have no surprises from that direction. Corporal, you take the water entrance in case they bolt that way. Cub, you're with me."

Gimlet, Cub and Copper vanished like ghosts in sunlight. Oz nodded to Trapper and made himself comfortable facing the opposite way to the French Canadian. Trapper would alert him if anyone came their way, so Oz could focus all his attention in the other direction. He did his best to ignore the sounds of the plane landing on the water and the scuffle that broke out in the boathouse. He did wince at the gunshot the boathouse's soundproofing didn't entirely muffle. If Greyback heard that...

Less than a minute later, well before the plane could taxi in, they were called inside. Oz stayed on watch while Trapper was put to work tying and gagging the two now unconscious men. Then they took them out, hid them in the shrubs and Oz resumed his guard post while Trapper went back inside. Nothing seemed to have changed, but Oz had that creepy hellmouthy feeling of being watched.

The next several minutes were a long waiting game for Oz. He found it hard to hold onto any sense of serenity while he waited for the shoe to drop. Greyback was out there somewhere, he was almost certain, but Oz couldn't catch sight, sound or scent of the other werewolf. The best he could do was to try not to be distracted by the activity in the boathouse as the commandos let the spies walk straight into their trap.

Greyback attacked when the bullets started flying. Of course. A slight rustle was all the warning Oz had that Greyback had somehow made his way undetected to Oz's left. He was already moving as Greyback launched himself out of the rushes, but that wasn't enough to completely save him. Lines of fire lanced across his ribs as Greyback's claws scored him. That had probably been meant to rip his throat out, Oz thought distantly.

Oz's backflip was a good deal less graceful than he had intended. He managed to land in a reasonable approximation of the classic superhero crouch, which looked cool but was hell on the knees. The Abbot would have things to say about that. Greyback didn't follow up, though. Instead he stopped in the middle of the clearing, grinned at Oz and licked the blood off his claws. As psychological warfare went it wasn't bad, but Oz had seen Angelus at work. In comparison, this was just a bit disturbing.

Oz took the opportunity to straighten up into a more acceptable position. Transformed as he was, the urge to strike back, to wipe out his pain with Greyback's blood was strong. The habits instilled by morning after morning of meditation and training were stronger. Oz took a deep breath and felt calm settle around him like a blanket.

Greyback's second charge was no less fast than his first, but this time Oz was ready for him. He guided Greyback's outstretched claws over his right shoulder as he slid to the left, leaving his right leg extended for Greyback to trip over. Olé, he thought as Greyback ploughed face first into the ground. He didn't have time to capitalise on that, though. Greyback was on his feet in an instant and back crowding in, trying to use his superior strength and size to overpower Oz. Oz was faster and better trained, somewhat to his surprise, but that didn't mean he could land any serious blows of his own. Perhaps he should have drawn his knife when he had the opportunity, he thought.

"Stay still, damn it," Greyback growled, aiming a powerful swing. Oz gave him a look and swayed back. His parry caught Greyback on the elbow, using the bigger werewolf's own momentum to force him to overextend. Greyback went with the motion, converting it into a pivot kick that Oz ducked under. It was as he launched his own sweep kick at the one leg Greyback still had on the ground that Oz smelled gasoline and realised what was about to happen.

The aviation fuel went up with a dull whumph. Oz was vaguely aware of movement at the door of the burning boathouse — the commandos, he devoutly hoped — but didn't dare look over. Greyback was off-balance and thoroughly distracted, and Oz wasn't going to get a better chance. He pulled out his silver knife and struck for the heart.

He wasn't quite fast enough. Greyback jumped back far enough to take a shallow cut instead of a serious blow, and his flailing hand caught Oz in the face. Oz jumped back himself. It was going to take a moment for his head to stop ringing, even from that glancing blow.

Greyback started towards him, but stopped to pluck something out of the air. The silver head of one of Trapper's arrows glinted in the light of the burning boathouse. Copper's machine gun stuttered briefly, but the regular bullets did no more than make Greyback jerk as they smacked into him. The pissed-off werewolf turned and rushed the commandos with a roar.

Oz knew he couldn't get there in time, but he launched himself after Greyback anyway. He had barely even started moving when Gimlet's pistol barked once. Greyback stumbled, falling to his knees, and Oz barrelled into him. Close up, the smell of Greyback's blood was overpowering. Instinct took over, and Oz's claws were ripping out Greyback's throat a moment later.

"That's quite enough of that racket," Gimlet said coldly.

Oz took a couple of deep breaths before rolling back to his feet. Gimlet's steady heartbeat helped him to ground himself, to reassert rationality now that what his wolfy side saw as a challenger was dead.

"So we're done with stealth then?" he said.

"The cat's out of the bag orl right," Copper agreed.

"Cub, fetch the bombs," Gimlet said curtly. "We're likely to need them now." Cub disappeared into the shrubs, reappearing moments later with the bag of grenades.

"Open order," Gimlet told them, "and swing away to the right so that we haven't the light of the fire behind us. Keep going until we run into opposition, then take cover. Don't waste silver ammunition on Nazis if you don't have to."

Cub grimaced. "Let's hope we don't have to," he said. Oz nodded wearily.

"Come on, gentlemen," Gimlet said. "Let's not waste any more time."


	7. Mopping Up

They saw the Nazis outside the mill before they were seen, at least. Some of them were even starting off down the path to the fire. "I could rush them?" Oz offered. "Keep them from holing up." He wasn't any too enthusiastic about the idea given how chewed up he felt from the fight, but he felt like he should offer anyway.

Gimlet shook his head. "Too dangerous," he said. "I wouldn't put it past Wenson to have stocked up on silver bullets in case he wanted to remove Greyback himself."

The first Nazis spotted them then, and promptly turned around and ran for the mill. "Moot point," Oz observed.

"For God's sake, put a shirt on man," Gimlet snapped. "You're making me cold just looking at you. You'll be less of a target that way too."

A fair point, Oz thought. He wasn't that cold — the monastery in winter was much worse — but despite the mud his pale skin showed up regrettably well. "There shouldn't be any more experienced werewolves either," he mused. He let his body shift back to merely human, grimacing at the pain of the transformation.

Cub eyed the T-shirt dubiously as Oz pulled it on. "I'm not sure that's an improvement," he said.

"Enough chit-chat," Gimlet admonished. "We're going to swing around to the track. We can cut off any chance they have of getting away by car and get out of the light of that wretched fire. Keep low and spread out," he ordered.

"Do they even have a car here?" Cub asked as they made their way over. "Wouldn't the pilots have seen tracks from the air?"

"Who knows?" Copper said. "Better safe than sorry, I always say."

Wise words, Oz thought a few minutes later. Smoke was coming from the bottom of the windmill as they approached, and the sound of a car engine starting up came loudly through the night. Gimlet urgently ordered Copper forward to where he could cover the smokescreen. Oz could just about make out the shape of a car backing away from an outbuilding. So apparently could Copper. He dashed forward as the car turned off and headed into the smoke. He stopped and the Sten gun chattered off short bursts. Another dash forward and the gun spoke again. This time the car swayed out of the smoke, obviously out of control, and ran off the track to sink partially into the marsh. Copper sprayed it again for good measure.

"That's the car we chased from the Hotel Europa," Cub observed.

"It is," Copper said coldly, "and I reckon I've scratched a bit more paint off it."

Oz couldn't help but wince at the loss of life. Gimlet noticed, of course. "As far as these people are concerned, we're still at war," he said. "Letting them escape is not an option."

Oz nodded. "Just, I spend most of my life trying not to kill people," he pointed out. "Also, Buddhist." He sighed. "Not that they're giving us options."

"Quite so," Gimlet said. He turned to the commandos. "Spread out and head to the mill," he ordered. "Keep low. Encourage the enemy to keep their heads down."

Oz swung wide to the right, staying within sight of Trapper. The bonfire of the boathouse died out as they slowly advanced. It was important now to make sure none of the bad guys could slip away in the darkness, Oz accepted that. There was the occasional shot from the windmill, but the defenders had to be firing blind. Certainly none of the commandos seemed to be overly worried by it. Even Copper's beloved Sten gun only stuttered its deadly warning once.

Quite what the plan was once they were in position, Oz wasn't very clear about. Still, surviving Sunnydale had left him with a healthy respect for just winging it. No plan survived contact with the enemy, as someone said, and Sunnydale proved that time after time.

He had been settled in place for several minutes when Gimlet decided to let the defenders know the score. "Hi!" he shouted. "You in the mill! I'll give you five minutes to come out with your hands on your heads." There were a couple of overly optimistic shots from the upper floors, and a single contemptuous laugh. "Oh, I wouldn't count on Mr Greyback to rescue you," Gimlet added coldly.

"You may think that," a voice sneered. It sounded like Wenson, but Oz couldn't be sure.

"Being shot in the heart with silver and having his throat ripped out seemed to do the trick," Gimlet called back. "Four and a half minutes, gentlemen."

It was a long four and a half minutes. Oz could wait for hours with no particular purpose, but he couldn't reach that zen state of awareness without self right then. Ordinary patience had to be enough as he watched and waited. The impending loss of life worried at him, even though ultimately it was the choice of those inside the windmill.

"Time's up!" Gimlet shouted eventually. "You've had your chance."

That was the cue for at least one person in the mill. The door opened and a man ran out in a loping crouch Oz was very familiar with. He couldn't see well enough to be certain, but he would put money on the man heading vaguely his way being a werewolf. He tensed in case this was an attack, but the gunfire aimed at the man came from inside. At least some of it hit. Oz saw the man stumble and smelt fresh blood in the air.

"Run!" he yelled. "This way."

The werewolf — Oz could see the fur now — changed directions and put on a burst of speed, heading close to where Oz was hiding. Judging from the thud of bullets into the mud and the smell of hot silver, that probably saved his life. Oz grabbed him as he passed, pulling him into the dubious cover of the shrubs. With luck the bad guys would think the guy's scream meant something lethal had happened.

"Quiet," he hissed. The guy was in full panic mode, breathing and heart rate sky high, and this close Oz couldn't help but smell the fear and pain. He was fully wolfed out, and probably only had any control at all because the moon was still pretty new. Oz had to get him through the panic ASAP if he didn't want a fight on his hands.

"Look at me," he commanded, keeping his voice low. The guy looked, whined and looked away. "No," Oz said firmly. He grabbed the guy by the chin and forced his head around. _"Look at me."_

"Hurts," the man complained.

"I know," Oz said evenly. Wounds caused by silver healed slowly and hurt like a bitch. "Now breathe with me. In. out. That's good, now again. In. Out. Cool."

It took a minute to get the guy back to a reasonable approximation of rationality. Oz used the time to assess this new wolf. He was young for one thing, probably even younger than Cub. Taller and broader than Oz, though not by much. Blond and blue-eyed, he looked like what Oz vaguely remembered the Nazis touting as Aryan, but the more the fangs and fur receded, the more all Oz could see was a scared boy.

Oz had just about decided he could stop talking when a muffled but violent explosion made the new wolf jump. Gimlet had evidently decided enough was enough. Oz resolutely stopped his heartbeat from spiking more than momentarily.

" _Vass?_ " the guy began. "What...?"

"What's your name?" Oz asked softly.

"O— Oliver."

"We're in the middle of a fight, Oliver," Oz continued gently. Behind Oliver another grenade went off, this one setting part of the windmill on fire. Oliver twitched, but managed to keep his gaze locked on Oz. Oz gave him a small, unthreatening smile of approval.

"It's going to get ugly," Oz continued, letting the smile fall off his face. "People you know, maybe people you like, are going to die. There's nothing you can do about that."

"I could—"

"You chose to surrender," Oz interrupted firmly but kindly. "They didn't."

All the energy seemed to go out of Oliver at once. He practically collapsed on Oz, who did his best to envelop the boy in a hug. "I don't want you to face that right now," Oz told him gently. "I want you to listen to my heartbeat and memorise my scent. Can you do that?"

Oliver burst into tears and clung on. Oz decided to take that as agreement. He held on to the boy and made reassuring noises, but part of his attention was always focused outward. Oliver might not need to witness the destruction of the men in the mill, but Oz was partly responsible for the assault and he still needed to make sure none of the others escaped. Or came after Oliver for that matter.

As it happened, the only person to run out of the burning building fell to Trapper's rifle before getting anywhere near. It wasn't until ten minutes after the fire had taken hold, when there was essentially no chance anyone was still alive in there, that there was any need to move. "Come on," Oz said gently as the commandos gathered around. "It's time to stand and face the music."

"So what do we have here?" Gimlet asked casually as he sauntered up. "What's your name, young man?"

"Oliver Voss, sir." Oliver forced himself to stand to attention, despite the pain he was obviously feeling from his wounds. The tears streaking his face kind of ruined the effect. Oz gave him a small smile and inclined his head in approval anyway. That was probably as much encouragement as the kid was going to get. Gimlet certainly wasn't putting out any positive vibes, and nor was Cub. Copper looked positively contemptuous. The only one not looking particularly unfriendly was Trapper, who was hard to read in any case.

"You know what you've been involved with?" Gimlet continued. Oliver nodded. "And you know what the penalties are?" Another nod. Oliver's shoulders sagged minutely, Oz noticed, and his eyes were brimming again. The kid was no hardened killer, he was sure of it.

"Why did you let Greyback bite you?" Oz asked. Gimlet looked cross at the interruption, but Oz held up a hand to forestall him. "What did you think it would give you?"

"I..." Oliver paused for a moment, visibly bracing himself. "I wanted to be strong. I couldn't..." He trailed off.

"Couldn't murder?" Cub asked coldly. Oliver flinched.

"You wanted to protect your country," Oz said mildly. He was guessing, but Oliver was giving him all sorts of clues involuntarily. "They told you this was about justice, making people pay for their crimes. Who wouldn't want that? But did you see much justice?"

Oliver shook his head mutely. He was crying again.

"You thought you were the problem," Oz continued. "You tried to make yourself strong so you could do what they said your country needed." Denial and doubling down, it was a classic. "When Greyback came along, all power and arrogance, you thought that might be enough. That being a real werewolf would give you the strength to squash those disloyal feelings." He sighed. "The first time I met Fenrir Greyback, I was just too late to stop him killing a six-month old baby. Is that the kind of strength you want?"

"No!" Oliver choked out.

"Good," Gimlet said crisply. Oz raised an eyebrow at him. "Mr Voss could have been more prompt in rejecting his compatriots' cruel creed, but at least he has. Not that he doesn't still have consequences to face."

"Yeah," Copper rumbled menacingly. "You may not have murdered anyone, chum, but I bet you did plenty of aidin' and abettin'."

Oliver looked at his feet. "I will accept whatever punishment you see fit," he managed.

"Tell it ter the judge," Copper replied.

"Or I could take him on," Oz offered.

Both Copper and Cub objected to that idea, but Gimlet seemed a little more open to persuasion. "I can't see a werewolf in a normal prison ending well," he observed.

Oz nodded. "I know two werewolves who don't have to lock themselves away when the full moon comes round. I'm one of them." Though come to think of it, he had no idea why Tommy Dawkins had such an easy time controlling his wolfy nature. Maybe Diefenbaker helped. "If a new wolf wasn't in solitary, his cellmate would be dead come morning."

That gave the others pause. "You think you can keep him from hurting other people?" Cub asked.

"I know the drill," Oz replied. "The rest will be up to him."

"Still don't seem like much of a punishment," Copper grumbled.

"Think of it like exile," Oz suggested. Actually that was a good point. He ought to check Oliver would be OK with the consequences if Oz found his portal home.

"If you follow me back," he told the boy, "you will never see your family or friends again. It will be weird and scary. Is that too much?"

"I will accept whatever you decide," Oliver repeated dully.

Oz shook his head. "I'm not going to choose this for you. Coming with me will be a one way trip, OK?"

Cub snorted. "Taking ship for America is expensive, but— Good Lord, what's that?"

Oz looked over his shoulder and smiled. "That's my way home," he said, indicating the glowing portal that had suddenly appeared in the English countryside. A bit of a coincidence it showing up here and now, but Willow would probably have some explanation involving Oz being the last one through. "The far end's in Washington state," he explained. "In the early 21st century."

The looks of disbelief on the commandos faces were something to treasure. Gimlet recovered quickly. "You were rather coy about how you travelled," he murmured. Then he turned to Oliver. "I suggest you take Mr Osbourne up on his offer. I must admit I'm rather tempted myself, and it's far better than facing the courts here."

Oliver stared as Oz with wide eyes. "The future?" he asked hesitantly.

Oz nodded. "One way ticket," he warned.

"I..." Oliver took a deep breath. "Yes," he said firmly, "I will follow you." Oz smiled.

"You'd better go," Cub said urgently. "I think it's shrinking." Oz wasn't surprised to hear that. He suspected he had Jesse to thank for it still being there at all.

"Grab hold," he said extending a hand to his new student. "Don't want to get separated." Then the two of them turned and walked into the portal.

The last thing Oz heard from 1946 was Cub calling, "See you in sixty years!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an abrupt end, but it seemed like the right place to stop was with Oz heading back to his present. The fallout, and there is a lot, will be handled in A Matter Of Control.
> 
> For those wondering, Oliver is an OMC I currently have no particular plans for. I just needed something to make this chapter not just a repeat of the original W.E. Johns story, and having Oz take in a stray was the first thing to come to mind. That said, the last time I had an OMC who had no particular purpose he turned out to be Draco Malfoy, so maybe this will all get overtaken by events.


End file.
